What is there to say, really? The past few weeks have passed in a haze. We’re living in a house in Decatur that some friends of my sister were nice enough to “loan” to us. It’s an old 1970’s split level—pretty much the spitting image of the Brady Bunch house—that’s on the market as a tear-down. So now we’re living in it either until it sells and they start demolishing it or we figure out what in the hell we’re doing. Kenny wants to go back to New Orleans. The longer I spend in Atlanta, the more I dread the thought of going home.
I love that city, but this is so hard. How can we go back there and start over when almost everything is gone? I don’t want to go back, but I don’t want to stay here either. It feels like I don't belong anywhere right now.